Finding Pride and Joy
by MadnessJones
Summary: G1: The Stunticon Drag Strip is forced to confront a past he never knew about after discovering a piece of paper that has his picture on it. Will his ego be able to take the hit, and what will humanity be able to teach him about life and loyalty? No pairings.
1. Drag Race

_Author's Notes: Well, of all the things I could be posting, I didn't expect it to be this. This story idea has been in my backlog since 2017, but I wasn't sure I wanted to pursue the idea until now. I know Drag Strip is the least popular Stunticon, and honestly that's part of why I want to write him. I want to challenge myself by getting into the character's headspace and seeing if an emotional connection can be made with this Transformer. I hope you guys like this story, and thanks for checking it out. Please review, favorite, and follow to see more :)_

* * *

Chapter 1

Drag Racing

"Run! It's the Decepticons!" A man yelled as he pointed to four oncoming cars and a semi truck.

"Decepticons?" A woman asked worriedly, "Are you sure those aren't Autobots? They are cars after all."

"Just move it lady, before you get hit!" A teenage boy shouted as he ran past her.

As the humans ran in panic the Stunticons crashed into buildings, drove in figure-eights, and smashed into each other! Motormaster led the group through the streets of the metropolis they had decided to terrorize that day. They were supposed to be on some mission for Megatron, but the young mechs got bored and decided they'd rather have a demolition derby.

"Hey, Dead End, I bet I can destroy more fire hydrants in two minutes than you!" Drag Strip taunted.

"I bet you can too, because destroying fire hydrants is idiotic," Dead End replied in a bored tone of voice.

Drag Strip ignored his gloomy brother and started driving really fast on the sidewalk and knocking over as many fire hydrants as he possibly could. Wildrider saw Drag Strip performing what looked like a fun activity with lots of wreckage and decided he wanted to knock over fire hydrants on the other side of the street. Before long the two of them were in a competition to see who could knock down more fire hydrants, and the streets flooded with water from their antics.

"Hey, you lugnuts! My tires are getting soaked!" Breakdown hollered after them before transforming into robot mode and trying to shake the water off his frame.

Drag Strip and Wildrider ignored Breakdown's complaints and continued down the road. Drag Strip liked all his brothers a little bit, but he liked Wildrider a little bit more because he would actually bother to compete with him. He always tried to get Dead End to participate, but the maroon Lamborghini always seemed preoccupied with his own nihilism. He competed with Motormaster sometimes, but that was too risky. If he won then Motormaster would beat him up, but if he lost then..._he_ _lost_. Drag Strip wasn't sure which fate was worse.

To Drag Strip winning felt almost like a biological need. He _needed_ attention. He _craved_ adoration. He _demanded_ validation. It didn't help that the older Decepticons often forgot his name or would even taunt him by saying he was just some random body part for Menasor. He knew he was more than that though. He was the best. It was so ingrained in his programming that he couldn't stand to hear otherwise. He was the fastest, the strongest, the most attractive, the smartest, and simply the _best_ Decepticon that ever lived. At least, that was what he often told himself.

"Hey Drag Strip, I knocked over 23 hydrants!" Wildrider announced, "How many did you get?"

"Let me see...26! Yes! I win! In your faceplate, loser!" Drag Strip taunted Wildrider before laughing with glee.

Wildrider pouted for a second, but then saw a toppled over ice cream truck and decided to forget the whole thing and play with the melted ice cream instead. Drag Strip smirked and leaned on a telephone pole in satisfaction. He loved the afterglow of victory, no matter how small the competition. Now, who else could he humiliate in a game of skill?

As he thought about his options he looked down at a telephone pole close to where he was leaning. There was a tiny piece of human sized paper stapled to the pole. It was about shin level to Drag Strip, but even from this distance the yellow Decepticon could recognize the picture of his alt mode.

"What the?" Drag Strip wondered if it was a wanted poster or something, so he snatched up the wooden pole and ripped it out of the ground so he could get a better look at the paper stapled to it.

He magnified the words, and noticed there was two sets of words on it; one in English and one in Spanish. It read: Stolen, Custom Made Tyrrell P34 Formula One Race Car. One of a Kind. Yellow Color. No Sponsorship Stickers. Six Tires. If Found Contact 1-555-555-4433.

"Custom? One of a kind?" Drag Strip repeated what he read, and then growled softly before he said, "I don't believe this! Some stupid flesh bag has copied my perfect design! Oh, they will pay for this! They will _pay_!"

Drag Strip used his internal network to search for the address that correlated to the phone number. He was going to hunt down the miserable humans that copied his distinguished likeness and smash them into pulp!

* * *

Marco and Rosemarie Del Fuego worked at their mechanic shop repairing a '78 Oldsmobile that had a stripped transmission. It was a tough job, and the siblings had told the owner that it would be cheaper to get another used car, but the owner was insistent that this car had to be fixed. Rosemarie could understand how the man felt. She knew how it felt to get attached to a car.

"Hey Rosie, hand me the ⅝ wrench," Marco requested.

"Oh sure, here," Rosemarie replied as she gave him the whole wrench kit, "You think we should break for lunch soon?"

"We might have to. I don't think this job is going to be finished anytime soon," Marco replied; disappointment clear in his tone, "I had hoped this job wouldn't be as big as we thought, but if anything it seems almost hopeless. All this from leaving the handbrake up."

"For five days," Rosemarie added, "Yeah, that'll do it."

Marco wiped his hands with an old oil rag while Rosemarie did the same. When they were clean enough to not get grease on anything they grabbed a couple sandwiches and started eating. Just like everyday the siblings didn't say much to one another. They used to talk all the time, but with only two of them left it just wasn't the same. Without their brother Dario something was missing.

"I put up some more posters today," Rosemarie suddenly piped up in between bites of her sandwich.

"_Again_? No one is going to find that car," Marco groaned longsufferingly, "It was stolen, and whoever did it was a professional."

"A professional that dresses up like a robot?" Rosemarie asked skeptically, "Anyone that flashy is bound to make a mistake, and when they do we get Dario's Tyrrell back. It's what he would've wanted."

"Dario died because someone wanted that car badly enough to kill for it," Marco pointed out, "I don't wanna mess with no one like that. It was probably a competitor, or maybe someone who wanted the expensive parts Dario put into that thing. Either way, you should just drop it. The car's long gone."

"They took his life, and they took his victory," Rosemarie growled, her voice cracking as she tried not to cry, "That race was Dario's dream. I remember how hard he trained and how hard we worked on his car. When he chose us to be part of his pit crew I could see the excitement in his eyes. He crossed the finish line first Marco, he _won_. Everything Dario ever wanted was _right_ _there_, and then that monster in the metal suit just shows up and throws him off his own car, breaking his neck. Don't you see, Marco? It isn't just a Formula One race car. It's all that remains of Dario's dream. We have to get it back. The three of us made that car ourselves...customized it, painted it...drove it..."

Rosemarie then broke down, finally unable to contain her emotions. She cried for all she was worth, and Marco felt uncomfortable; not knowing what to do. She wasn't the only one who mourned for their brother and their shared dreams.

The three siblings had dreamed of racing since they were little, and had taken the surname Del Fuego as a catchy celebrity name. Dario had the driving talent, Marco had the technical knowledge, and Rosemarie had the speed to change a tire in less than two seconds. They were an unstoppable team, and switching from NASCAR to Formula One made them even better.

Then, when Dario had achieved the win they had all dreamed of for so long, he was killed by a random car thief right in front of the whole audience. Marco did indeed want the person responsible to go to prison, but they didn't even know who it was since they were wearing a costume. It also didn't help Marco's nerves that his little sister was obsessing over the stolen car and trying to get it back. Sure, it was a distinctive looking car, but no way was the thief going to return it after 8 months of having it, assuming the car wasn't sent to a chop shop.

Marco finished his sandwich while Rosemarie finished crying. She wasn't the type to cry over every little thing, but she also didn't hold her emotions inside. Marco was just glad they were alone so Rosemarie wouldn't embarrass herself. He went back to work on the Oldsmobile, and a few minutes later Rosemarie joined him.

They were working at a decent pace when a loud engine could be heard turning into their shop's parking lot. The shop was on the outskirts of town so any new car was noticeable, but this engine sounded both very powerful and very familiar.

Rosemarie looked at the newcomer first, and she gasped when she saw the yellow sheen of Dario's Tyrrell P34. It couldn't be true, and yet it was! The car had been returned to them!

Rosemarie ran toward the car excitedly while Marco had only just noticed what was going on. Rosemarie was almost to the car when it transformed into a giant yellow robot with an angry expression on its face! Rosemarie stopped and screamed as she tried to backtrack away from the hulking menace that was once a car. The robot grabbed Rosemarie and held her close to his face, and Marco shouted at the robot to let his sister go.

"So human, you're the one that copied me?" Drag Strip growled in rage, "Well then, you better tell me where that imposter car is if you want your death to be a quick one."

"Imposter?" Rosemarie parroted dumbly, "I...uh...what are you?!"

"I'm Drag Strip, the greatest Decepticon warrior of all time!" Drag Strip bragged shamelessly, "And you stole my design! I saw your poster, and you made your car look just like me! Now, where is it!?"

"We copied no one!" Rosemarie replied in offense, "That flyer showed a photo of our custom Tyrrell P34 racer. My brother Marco designed that car himself, and we built it together as a family. I think the real question is why did _you_ steal _our_ design?"

"I stole nothing! I was born with my magnificent alt mode!" Drag Strip argued, "No one else can have my curves, my engine block, and my drift resistance. I am the best of the best, and your car is a fake!"

"How _dare_ you accuse us of-!" Rosemarie began to yell.

"Wait, Rosemarie!" Marco shouted up to her; cutting her off, "Please don't anger the giant that _literally_ holds your life in his hands. Sir, we do not know where the car is, but if destroying it will save my sister's life then we will help you look for it."

"No, we won't!" Rosemarie contested, "That car belongs to us, wherever it is! I don't care what you are, you cannot have Dario's car!"

"Ugh! Rosie, see reason!" Marco shouted helplessly, "That monster will kill us if we do not obey!"

"No one calls us design thieves and demands us to destroy our own property!" Rosemarie snapped, "We are the best customizers around, and our car is way better than you, robo-Niño."

"Or it was until 8 months ago," Marco chimed in, "That's when it was stolen. Please, let Rosemarie go. We do not have the car anymore, and she cannot hurt you. Please, all we have left is each other."

"Did you say 8 months ago?" Drag Strip only honed in on that one aspect of what Marco had said, "That's how old I am."

"Excuse me?" Rosemarie asked for clarification.

"Megatron built me and my brothers 8 months ago, to defeat the Autobots," Drag Strip told them; trying to process the information himself, "If you lost a custom yellow race car 8 months ago, and I was built 8 months ago...that means...we're the same car. It was me."

"What was you?" Rosemarie asked uncomprehendingly.

"Your car," Drag Strip explained, "My body was made...from your car."

Rosemarie gasped in shock, but then glared up at Drag Strip. Marco didn't know what to think, but didn't say anything to contradict him.

"You mean someone murdered my brother and stole his life's work to make a giant robot!?" Rosemarie snarled angrily, "Who is your master? I'll kill him!"

"Hah! I'd like to see you try!" Drag Strip scoffed at the woman in his fist, "Megatron is the most powerful Decepticon in the universe. He could kill you with his little finger. In fact, so could I. So tell me little fleshy, what are you going to do to Megatron?"

"Rosie, stop talking!" Marco shouted desperately.

"Ignore my brother, he's always been a worrier," Rosemarie said dismissively, "He means well, but he doesn't know how to live. You know, he's the only one of us that never drove the race car."

"By race car you mean me, right?" Drag Strip asked wryly.

"Um, si...I suppose so," Rosemaire replied sheepishly, "Well, since you came all this way, perhaps I could make you something to eat. What do you eat, if anything?"

"Energon," Drag Strip reluctantly replied.

"I do not know what that is. Do you drink gasoline?" Rosemarie asked.

"It makes me backfire, but I'll drink it," Drag strip shrugged.

Drag Strip then put Rosemarie down, and she and her brother both breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up at the robot that had once been Dario's dream car, and he looked even taller and more imposing that he did before.

"By the way, my name is Rosemarie Del Fuego, and this is my brother Marco," Rosemarie introduced herself, "What did you say your name was again?"

"Drag Strip," The titular Decepticon replied proudly, "And I suppose I can let you live in exchange for some fuel, but only because you two helped to build my stunning physique. One wrong move however, and I'll step on you like the insects you are."

"Well this is going to be pleasant," Marco muttered sarcastically through gritted teeth, "Rosemarie, how do we get rid of this guy?"

"Let's just give him gas, and then we'll worry about how long he lingers," Rosemarie said before giggling at her own remark.

Marco just rolled his eyes and watched as his sister got to work rounding up gas cans for their monstrous massive visitor. Of all the things to happen to Dario's car, this definitely was _not_ on Marco's list of possibilities. He only hoped that he and his little sister could live long enough to regret this.


	2. The Uninvited

_Author's Notes: I worked on a few different fanfics this week, but for some reason this is the chapter I managed to finish. I feel like it's too short, but this is just a setup chapter for the rest of the story so it makes sense it wouldn't be that long. Thank you all for supporting this latest story. I don't know exactly what tone I'm going for, so we'll get to find out together how Drag Strip and his new human contacts handle the situation :)_

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Chapter 2

The Uninvited

Drag Strip sat in the back parking area of the mechanic shop and drank from as many gas cans as the Del Fuegos would give him. The red square cans looked so puny in between Drag Strip's massive fingers, and the mechanics were getting tired of running petrol out to this giant bully.

"Are you almost full?" Rosemarie asked impatiently.

"How could I be? There's hardly anything in here!" Drag Strip griped, "So, what do you flesh bags do around here exactly?"

"We fix cars," Marco replied simply.

"Oh, so you're medics," Drag Strip assumed, "We have a few of those. The Constructicons. Those guys are real jerks. Think they're so hot just because they were the first combiners. Menasor is a better combiner than Devastator any day!"

The two humans looked apprehensively at each other. Neither one knew what the yellow giant was rambling about, but they knew he was getting angrier at these Constructicons, whoever they were.

"So, if you earth germs built me, then where are the other cool cars?" Drag Strip asked derisively, "All of these cars are just hunks of junk."

"Of course they are, our job is to repair them," Marco replied defensively, "When we're done they'll be ready to drive again."

"Yeah, but what do _you_ drive?" Drag Strip asked, actually curious this time.

"My car is over there, and that one is Rosemarie's," Marco replied as he pointed to a 1987 Toyota Tercel and rusty El Camino respectively.

"Yeesh, so I guess I was the only good car, huh?" Drag Strip remarked when he saw the 'competition'.

"You weren't street legal," Rosemarie explained, "Formula One race cars can only be driven on special tracks made for racing. We even had to rent a truck just to drive you to the races. Oh wow, I sound so loco right now. I'm talking to the car."

"Hey, _the car _can hear you!" Drag Strip snapped in offense, "You'd better recognize who you're dealing with here. We Decepticons are superior life forms that have come to take over your world and many others. When Megatron takes back Cybertron, he's gonna give the earth to me and my brothers to destroy. So, if you wanna live to see my ultimate victory then you better be nice to me."

"Oh, man. The car was abducted by aliens," Marco said incredulously as he shook his head in disbelief, "Our Tyrrell is an alien invader...We're dreaming, right Rosie?"

"The same dream?" Rosemarie asked with her hand on her hip, "We may be brother and sister, but we're not twins. This is real, though I am skeptical of the success these aliens have had."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Drag Strip asked crossly.

"Exactly as it sounds, _Drag Strip_," Rosemarie replied fearlessly, "It means I don't think you _are_ succeeding. If you were, then earth would be yours already. It's been 8 months. I don't know what the problem is, but you are _not_ winning."

"We are too! I _always_ win!" Drag Strip screamed in rage, "I am the best, you hear me!? _The best_! With me on the team it won't be long before your species is nothing more than a memory! I can beat anyone at anything! _I am a winner_!"

Rosemarie was shocked by just how vehement Drag Strip sounded. She could tell that she had pushed a sore spot with this mech. Marco was frozen in place after that outburst, but Rosemarie recovered a little quicker.

"You are a winner, huh?" Rosemarie asked, trying to sound casual despite her unease, "Well then, you are Dario's car after all."

"Huh?" Drag Strip asked dumbly.

"Dario crossed the finish line in you," Rosemarie explained; a note of sorrow in her voice, "You were stolen, I am now guessing by an alien, right after Dario crossed the finish line. It had been his life's dream to win a national racing trophy. The race had been held in Rome. We had to get special visas to go and everything. His moment of glory lasted only a few precious seconds. Then he was gone. Really, the only solace we have is that Dario died a winner...he had achieved his dream, and whatever you are now, you did that for him. So, thank you Drag Strip."

Rosemarie hadn't meant to say that to the evil Decepticon, but it just came out. The personage before her was still her brother's car, and she felt the need to let the now sentient piece of technology know how much he meant to her family. Drag Strip didn't know how to respond to that statement. He wasn't used to positive praise that he didn't force out of people, so whatever he was feeling about it was completely new to him.

"Listen, uh, I gotta go," Drag Strip stammered as he got up, "I've got important take-over-the-world stuff to deal with and I'm sick of you losers. So, uh, smell you later, skin bags!"

With that Drag Strip transformed into his alt mode and sped away from the mechanic shop. Rosemarie and Marco were left in stunned silence as they watched the Tyrrell drive off and leave black tire marks on their pavement.

"So, should we have told him that he's still not street legal?" Marco asked in dumb shock.

"Like you could've said it fast enough," Rosemarie replied without looking at him; both humans still watching the road where the dust was settling, "I cannot believe this. Dario's car is _alive_. Now we'll never get it back."

"You want that thing to come back?" Marco snorted, "Rosie, I think the car is the least of our worries. Giant robots are taking over the world! We have to do something!"

"Yeah, we need to buy more gas," Rosemarie quipped.

* * *

Back at the Decepticon base, Drag Strip was in his room looking at his stuff. He had several trophies that he had stolen from human racing events and displayed on his trophy case. He told his brothers that the trophies signified how great he was at terrorizing squishies, but now he realized they were just unearned bobbles. He didn't compete in a single sport or race, mostly because he felt like the humans were unworthy opponents against him.

He began to wonder if he was wrong about that. Sure, humans still seemed puny and ugly, but after meeting the Del Fuegos he saw a competitive spirit in them that he hadn't noticed before. Drag Strip had been built to win a race. He was born to be the fastest car alive (well, not actually alive), and yet he didn't really know what to do with himself without competition.

The older Decepticons spoke of humans as if they were insects meant to be stepped on, and the Stunticons just went along with it because it was what they had always been taught. Now though Drag Strip began to wonder what that said about him and his brothers. All five of them had been built by humans, for humans. Did the other Decepticons view them as inferior because their frames originated in human factories and human hands?

"But I'm not just a factory car," Drag Strip said to himself, "I'm special, Rosemarie said so. I was custom made to be the best. That's why Megatron used this frame to make me, because it was the best. I'm the best. Even Megatron knows it. So then...why am I never used for special missions? I'm treated as just one of Menasor's arms. That makes me no better than Dead End. Dead End for pit's sake!"

Drag Strip growled under his breath and tried to shake the bad thoughts away. What was he? Was he an underappreciated grunt? A glorious racer? A human tool that had been Frankenstein'ed to life?

He also wondered how he should feel about the Del Fuegos. They weren't that remarkable, other than the fact they had gasoline ready for him to consume. There was one thing that made them special though, and it was that they made him. Drag Strip had always thought of Megatron as his maker, but he had to acknowledge for the first time that he had a prehistory before Megatron ever laid optics on him. He had a...what was the word? A relativity? No, that wasn't it. Wait, family! That was it. Drag Strip had a human family.

"Wait, does that mean the other Stunticons had people that liked them too?" Drag Strip asked himself, "Nah! I'm the only custom model, so that makes me better than them. Can't let Motormaster hear me say that though. He'll peel my paint."

Drag Strip's optics wandered back to his ill-gotten trophies, and he scowled as he realized he had no means of earning real ones. The other Decepticons were boring and never gave out trophies for anything. He could try to enter a human competition, but that didn't feel challenging enough. He wanted a real race with real racers, but his brothers were the only ones that even came close to his speed without flying like a stupid seeker. What was a hungry competitor to do?

"Wait! I've got it!" Drag Strip suddenly exclaimed, "I know how to make a real race!"

Drag Strip then ran out of his room as quickly as possible to make his way to the air hangar. He had a race to organize, and he had a couple humans that could help him do it.

* * *

That night Marco slept in his cabin next to the mechanic shop. Rosemarie was downstairs in the basement, and Marco was on the main floor. Everything felt calm and peaceful around the area as Marco dreamed a nondescript dream. That was interrupted however when a sudden tapping against the window woke him up. Marco tried to ignore it, thinking it was birds, but then his window suddenly broke!

"Ah!" Marco yelped as he saw a metallic tubular object come through the window.

Marco got out of bed quickly and ran out of the bedroom. He looked out the window of the living room to see a flash of yellow under the porch light. Wait, yellow?

"Oh, no," Marco sighed as he realized what this was.

Wearing his boxer shorts, undershirt, and bunny slippers, Marco walked out to see Drag Strip outside with his finger still inside the window.

"Come on, I know you're in there!" Drag Strip called out demandingly to the humans, "Get out here!"

"I am out here," Marco rasped; his mouth dry from just waking up, "What do you want?"

"Where's the other one? I need you both," Drag Strip insisted.

"She's still sleeping," Marco groaned, "Drag Strip, why are you here? I thought you had end-of-the-world stuff to do."

"I got a great idea, and I need you two to help me," Drag Strip replied excitedly, "I'm gonna make the Autobots race me, and I'm gonna prove I'm the fastest Cybertronian grounder alive, and I'm gonna get a big trophy!"

"Um...okay," Marco replied, too tired to comprehend what Drag Strip was saying, "Good for you. Can I go back to bed now?"

"No!" Drag Strip snapped, "I need you and Rosemarie to be my hostages."

"Oh, well then I'll go get- wait. Did you say _hostages_?" Marco asked, finally aware of what was going on.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hold you two hostage," Drag Strip replied with childlike enthusiasm, "I'll tell the Autobots that I have two human hostages, and that I'll kill you if they don't make a big race. I'll race against the fastest Autobots they have, and I'll tell them that if I win I'll kill you. I won't, but I'll tell them that. That'll make 'em race _real_ good. Oh, and I'll make sure they have a big trophy for the winner! Yeah, this is gonna be _awesome_! Oh, I can't wait to humiliate those Auto-bozos at their own game! It's just too perfect! Hey, Marco! Don't go back inside! I'm still talking!"

Marco however wasn't listening. He rushed down into the basement to find Rosemarie, who was sprawled out on her daybed with drool dripping down her mouth.

"Rosie! Rosie wake up!" Marco shouted as he shook his sister awake.

"Ugh...What is it, Marco?" Rosemarie asked groggily.

"Wake up, Drag Strip is trying to kidnap us! We have to get out of here before it's too late!" Marco replied urgently.

"Ugh...Just tell them to leave it on the doorstep," Rosemarie mumbled; still mostly asleep.

"Rosie!" Marco shouted, and then screamed when he saw the ceiling being ripped out from over their heads, "Aaahhh!"

Drag Strip had torn away most of the house to get to them, and Rosemarie finally woke up to see what was going on. Marco spread his arms protectively in an effort to warn away Drag Strip from his sister, but it didn't have the desired effect. Drag Strip grabbed Marco by his midsection and grabbed Rosemarie and the blanket still wrapped around her. He transformed into car-mode and drove away with both humans in his front seats.


End file.
